


Negative Space

by jedusaur



Category: Bandom
Genre: Dirty Talk, M/M, Podfic Available, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-22
Updated: 2011-06-22
Packaged: 2017-10-22 02:28:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,194
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/232714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jedusaur/pseuds/jedusaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The important point to establish here is that Frank is not going to cheat on his wife.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Negative Space

**Author's Note:**

  * Translation into 中文 available: [负空间](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11559855) by [thekingdombythesea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thekingdombythesea/pseuds/thekingdombythesea)



> Thanks to my betas, [](http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/profile)[**zarathuse**](http://zarathuse.livejournal.com/) and [](http://dear-monday.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://dear-monday.livejournal.com/)**dear_monday**.
> 
> A podfic of this fic by anotherslashfan can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/391968), and another one by TheOneCalledEli can be found [here](http://archiveofourown.org/works/1954149).

The important point to establish here is that Frank is not going to cheat on his wife.

***

Gerard is wearing jeans and an ancient plain black hoodie, torn at the seams from wear and tear. He's not wearing a shirt under the hoodie, and patches of skin peek through the holes as he moves. He must be cold right now, out in the late Jersey fall, but he won't be once they get inside and the swarm of bodies closes around them. These hardcore shows, the crowds are like orgies at Fight Club, hard dicks and broken teeth and movement, always shifting, always something new.

There aren't many places they can go these days without being recognized and approached, but this is a dirty basement show for five hundred people who each have their own detailed definition of punk. These kids don't give enough of a damn to pay attention to either pop stars or faces in crowds, and if they do, they have the sense not to show it. Gerard keeps his hood up just in case, covering his loud pink hair.

Frank hooks a finger in Gerard's belt loop to keep them together as they make their way through the ranks of folded arms and cocked hips at the back of the crowd, but he lets go further in, when the gaps get tighter and the people get rowdier. That's a good way to break a finger. This isn't the kind of crowd that will stop dancing to let the paramedics through.

It's grotty and dark, just ambient noise from the people before the show starts. This isn't even really a concert, let alone the type of concert that pipes in music during downtime. People are smoking all over the place, some holding cigarettes high above their heads and tilting their faces up for each drag, some keeping them at the usual level and risking brawls over accidental burns. There are a lot of people with beers toward one corner of the room, and a lot of people popping pills along another wall, but no one's officially selling anything. Nothing is official here.

It's such a breath of fresh fucking air that Frank almost wishes for a moment that My Chem hadn't made it big. Almost.

No one claps when the band files onto the stage. A few people yell, and the buzzing in the room gets louder. Some cigarettes get stamped out. Some don't. No one knows who the fuck the band is, except that the guitarist is the dude from that other band, you know, the one with the numbers in the name that played a bunch of intense gigs early in the year before they fell apart.

This kind of show isn't really about making music. It's about spending energy. The lead screamer takes them through three or four songs without a break, then hollers something inappropriate and threatening into the mic. The room yells back at him while the band dives back into the noise. Most of the crowd is the mosh pit by now. Frank gives as good as he gets when he can move and enjoys the all-consuming human pressure when he can't. He likes it when they squish together so tightly his feet leave the ground and he's so in the moment that he barely notices.

He tells Gerard this after the show is over. Gerard lost the tattered hoodie somewhere in the crowd, but his hair is so dark from sweat that he's still not too recognizable on the way out of the stifling basement. The air is still freezing, but they're overheated enough to enjoy it as they walk back to the car. Gerard wears his skin well these days, more comfortably than Frank could possibly have imagined he ever would ten years ago.

"It's a push and a pull, you know, sometimes you're part of this giant power moving everyone forward and sometimes you're part of the crowd getting moved." Frank leans against the car while Gerard fishes his keys out of his pocket. "I like being moved, when you lose your balance and you can't do anything except let yourself go. It's like undertow, you just keep your head up and stop fighting back."

Gerard hip-checks him out of the way to unlock the door. He doesn't answer until they're both in the car and he's pulling out of the tiny parking space they found a few blocks away. It's two in the morning, and they're the only ones awake once they get past the efflux of people from the show.

Gerard says, "I like being part of the push." He says, "I like feeling like that power is coming from me."

"Yeah?" says Frank.

"Yeah. It's about control, I guess."

"For me, too," says Frank. "Giving up control. When my arms are trapped between other people and I can't move, except I'm still moving the whole time, just not my own movements."

Gerard is listening carefully. Street lamps light up his face in bursts along the road, casting blurry shadows of his eyelashes across his cheeks, and Frank can tell he's paying attention.

"Letting everything go," says Frank. "Not having to worry about anything, anything, even standing upright."

Gerard isn't wearing a shirt, and maybe it's the cold Jersey air or maybe it's Frank's words, but his nipples are all tight and nubby. Frank lets the silence stretch out for a while, then he says, "I miss it."

Gerard could say they just did it, Frank isn't missing anything, but he doesn't. Maybe he gets that Frank means he misses being able to do this anytime, all the time, every weekend.

Maybe he gets that Frank isn't talking about _this_ at all.

***

It's not because he's married and he's not supposed to. It's not because of the consequences if he did. It's because he knows Jamia, he knows his wife, and he knows what sex means to her. He isn't going to cheat because doing it, even if she didn't know about it, would make him the kind of guy who doesn't deserve her.

***

They're both exhausted. It's that time of night when flat on the floor feels like a perfectly normal place to be. They're exhausted, and giggly, and Gerard says, "Bondage."

The carpet is a little scratchy against the backs of Frank's elbows. "Never."

"Fisting."

Frank laughs. "I wanted to try after she had the twins. Thought if she could get those through there, she should be able to stand a hand. She said I could if I gave her an epidural first."

Gerard turns his head, grinning. "I meant being fisted."

"Ow, motherfucker, _no._ "

"Rimming."

Frank goes quiet, because the answer is no, but he's afraid if he says it his voice will crack from how suddenly desperately he wants it. He's thought about it, a tongue in his ass while he jerks off, squishy and wet inside him, and the memories of his fantasies nudge up against his attention, vying for a spot.

"I love rimming," Gerard murmurs. "Feels so dirty, having my nose up in someone's asscrack."

Frank sits up, because if he doesn't, Gerard is going to see that he's hard. He swallows twice, then says, "Never tried it."

"You want to, though."

It takes another long moment to say, "Yeah."

He risks a glance at Gerard. He's still lying flat, and he's not trying to hide his own erection. But he isn't moving toward Frank, he isn't trying to do anything, and as long as they're not doing anything, it's allowed. No one can get mad at them for talking about sex, and it's just as ridiculous to blame them for physiological reactions they can't control. It's still within the rules.

Frank lays back down, slowly, tentatively, letting his jeans bulge up. "I want to try the bondage, too," he says, very carefully, like the words might break if he lets them out too fast.

Gerard's face is two feet away from his, a little pink, lips parted. "Yeah?" he breathes. "It's about control, right?"

It is. Frank wants to be held down and made to wait. He wants to be teased for hours. He wants to be at someone else's mercy, to come when they say he can. He wants Gerard to take his wrists, right now, and pin them down, to suck hickeys all over him, maybe after a long time to jerk him off.

Frank doesn't say any of that. He says, "Blindfolds."

He says, "Throat-fucking."

He says, "Fuck, I miss cock."

***

Frank isn't going to cheat on his wife. That isn't even a question.

The question is whether he already has.

***

They don't bring it up during the daytime. Being sober is okay, but being aware is not. They need the darkness and closeness and the excuse of late nights to let it happen.

Not that anything's _happening._ They're just talking.

"Lindsey lets me," says Gerard. "Once in a while. I have to ask permission ahead of time, and sometimes she wants to meet him first, but she lets me."

Gerard is lying on Frank's couch. Frank is on the floor, on his stomach, chin smushed into his forearms. His family is asleep, and Gerard should be at home, but he isn't.

"Last month," says Gerard. "He was all buff and clean-cut. I met him in a bar and talked to him about his Firefly shirt. He asked me if I was a size queen, and I said not really, and he said I might want to find someone else to hook up with."

Frank doesn't say anything. He doesn't participate. Talking isn't doing anything, but not talking is doing even less.

"That got me curious. I told him I didn't know if I was a size queen because I'd never had a chance to find out. So he took me back to his place and showed me what he meant. Fucking huge, I almost walked out when I saw it, but try anything once, right? So I tried it."

Frank's head is starting to pound. He lays it down on his arms, looking at the base of the couch, listening.

"It really fucking hurt. Took a long time to get it all in. He told me to stay there, just sitting on his cock without moving, and he jerked me off. After I came, he rolled over on top of me and fucked me. I was all sensitive from coming, it was fucking uncomfortable, but it didn't hurt as bad that way."

They can't see each other like this. Gerard's voice is just floating down from above Frank, from the darkness to his ears to his cock, hard and digging into the floor.

"It was good. It did things to my prostate I'd never felt before. Makes me want to buy a butt plug and just keep it in all day. No one would know."

No one would know. Frank wouldn't know. He thinks about that, about Gerard going about his normal activities with a plug in his ass, and he groans. Now he'll be wondering, every time Gerard walks a little funny, every time he sits down too slowly.

Gerard takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Butt plugs," he says.

"Not yet," whispers Frank.

"What?" says Gerard.

Frank rolls over on his side, his erection tenting his pants where Gerard could see if he just turned his head a little, and says, "I haven't tried one yet. I might."

Gerard doesn't turn his head, but the ear Frank can see is deep red.

***

Frank asks Jamia if she talks about sex with her friends.

She says of course she does. She says talking about sex isn't a big deal, and it shouldn't be so taboo. If everyone shared sex tips more freely, she says, life would be a lot more fun.

It doesn't make Frank feel as much better as it should.

***

"Sometimes when she tickles me," says Frank, "I say _stop_ and she stops, and I want to say _stop isn't my fucking safeword._ "

They're in the car again, parked in Frank's driveway. Frank's going to go inside any minute, but for now his feet are up on the dashboard and Gerard is slumped down in the driver's seat and it's nice and warm from their panting ragged breaths.

"I would, you know," says Gerard, and this, this they haven't said. Frank looks at him and waits for an explanation, even though he doesn't need it. He knows what Gerard is offering. But Gerard says it anyway: "I'd fuck you if you asked me to. I wouldn't tell."

"What would you do?" asks Frank. His heart is rattling. "What would you do to me?"

"I'd tie you down," says Gerard, and he's looking straight into Frank's eyes and practically moaning the words. "I'd put a blindfold on you. I'd rim you until you begged me to let you come. I'd tickle you if you wanted me to."

"What else?" says Frank, and his cock is hurting against the zipper of his jeans. "Tell me what else you'd do."

***

But he's not going to cheat.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [(podfic of) Negative Space](https://archiveofourown.org/works/391968) by [anotherslashfan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherslashfan/pseuds/anotherslashfan)
  * [[Podfic of] Negative Space, by jedusaur](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1954149) by [TheOneCalledEli](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheOneCalledEli/pseuds/TheOneCalledEli)




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